


My hands are shaking from holding back from you.

by ItsStillBeating



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 12:46:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsStillBeating/pseuds/ItsStillBeating
Summary: Three years post-Homecoming. The Decathlon team are legal age and away from home, drunk shenanigans ensue and this eventually leads to Michelle and Peter having a first... and second time.





	My hands are shaking from holding back from you.

_Inescapable, I'm not even gonna try_   
_And if I get burned, at least we were electrified_

 

* * *

 

It was the day after the Decathlon. Their supremely strange, supremely lax teacher Mr. Smith had said, with a wave of his hand, that it was their time to hang out in D.C. and that he’d be in the hotel room with water and Tylenol for anyone who needed it and… and…

It was suddenly, a different experience.

It was unchartered land.

Michelle and Peter were eighteen.

But a very strange eighteen.

An eighteen where instead of getting drunk at people’s apartments, they’d studied for the SATs.  Instead of smoking weed they’d pushed themselves deeper and deeper into their academics, until it was less a choice, and more embarrassment at never having done anything and being _eighteen_ and slowly drifting away from what it was to be a ‘normal’ person.

 

* * *

 

_So._

They ended up going to the club.

After a tense extreme version of ‘Rock, paper, lizard, Spock’ it was decided amongst their cohort that they must go to a club.

Michelle kept looking at Peter, so aware of his presence and his warmth, and the fact that he was still as tall as they’d been when they were fifteen but something about him was…. Different… manlier she supposed, but also more ‘worldly’, she’d told him she knew he was Spiderman when they were fifteen but then he’d drifted from her life, and everyone’s life and just remained a spectre… a shadow… an apparition of a man that clearly had more on his mind.

 

But now.

 

He didn’t seem like a ghost. He was looking at her. In the most purposeful way and it made her want to come towards him and talk to him and she didn’t know what would happen when they got back. He was headed to Columbia, seemingly to keep close to Stark, and she was headed to Caltech but somehow… somehow.

They were here now.

 

* * *

 

The club was dark, and putrid. But when a few rounds were passed around and the drinking games started it became… tolerable.

They played all the popular ones, and in ‘Never have I ever’, Peter stuttered forever on ‘Never have I ever… fallen in love’ and his eyes met hers and she felt herself swoon.

Eventually she’d drunken more alcohol than she’d ever even been aware of and everyone was in a dance floor in a circle. Like some strange version of ‘You got served’ everyone dancing awkwardly and exuberantly across the dancefloor and she closed her eyes and just felt herself move to the vibrations and…

There was something inherently goofy about the way Peter was moving. He had barely any rhythm and he’d do things clearly learned from MTV and stick out his hips and shoulders in a mockery of sexuality with the biggest beaming smile on his face, and yet…

Somehow it was working for her.

She’d never want to admit it but when Peter fixed her with his eyes and danced off-beat and off-rhythm and so sexual to ‘Toxic’ by Britney Spears she felt herself kind of liking it. She could feel her face beaming into a smile, and she knew that though she was no longer a fifteen-year-old who never smiled and never cared that it wasn’t normal for her to feel her cheeks stretch with joy but. There it was.

Half of it was how funny he looked but half of it was being a whole lot of in love with him.

 

Somehow, they all ended up stumbling back and Peter was walking her back to her hotel door, which was strange because she was definitely less drunk than him and he wasn’t even drunk at all. And they were joking by the door and he kept stroking her arm and looking at her from under his eyelashes and eventually she just started making small steps back and he started following her and eventually they were in her room and the door slammed and broke them out of their spell, and then… and then…

They were kissing.

So fiercely and so full of false confidence and untold secrets that it was almost strange. She felt herself tugging at the fabric of his black T-shirt around his shoulders and just wishing this could be forever. His searing warmth on her whilst she felt him and loved him and cherished him and why did it have to be so complicated. Why did you have to live in the same school as someone for years and then relegate yourself to moving to a different state and finding different lives why couldn’t you just… love.

He was tugging at the hem of her white t shirt and she took a large step back, looked at him very seriously and then stepped back and lifted it off.

It was worth it for the look he gave her and an exhale like someone had punched him in the stomach. He gently ran his fingers over her sternum, her ribs, her stomach and breathed hard in, with his head rested on her shoulder.

 

* * *

 

 

He slides in and his face screws up before he forces out a strangled ‘Fuck’ and he’s already come and his whole body is arched up in a beautiful cacophony a gymnastic symphony. There’s a tear coming out of his eye and smearing, and Michelle thinks it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

Partially because she’s so full of the overwhelming joy that you can only have when you’re eighteen and someone you really like is inside you and nothing hurts and he’s tender and kind and partially because ‘Peter you _literally lasted four seconds’_ Michelle is soon giggling like she never has before.

He starts a hurried apology before he sees the tears streaming down her face and the mirth accompanying on it showing itself in spasms all over her body, her arms, her legs, her head thrown back.

Lovely.

He marvels at her for ten seconds and then spends the next ten seconds lifting her thighs above his shoulders. She’s laughing for about ten seconds after that and then his mouth is on her and nothing has ever been further from laughter in her life. He doesn’t spend long kissing around her clit, just takes a deep breath and dives in, really giving it to her. She takes all he can give, first his tongue moving fast and firm against her clit setting her heart and her core on fire. Then his fingers, two of them sliding inside her and fucking into her. He’s whispering all sorts of beautiful words to her pussy and she’s so wet and she knows he doesn’t tend to curse unless he really _really_ means it.

‘Fuck…Em…’

She loves him forever in that moment and her first orgasm by another person is glass breaking and wet and sliding down into oblivion and she loves him and she loves him and…

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ’

And she comes.

 

* * *

 

The next morning is, strange to say the least.

Thirteen minutes into the morning the sun coming through the window wakes them both up and before they know what they’re doing they’re fucking each other golden and taking this redo very seriously.

But after the second sleep of the day it’s strange.

It wasn’t just a drunken mistake. If the fact that neither of them were that drunk didn’t negate that excuse the fact that sober, sleep-mussed and with bad breath they had come back together like they’d never left would’ve.

Peter is classic and frantic and stumbling, none of the suave dexterity of the night before. He’s in a big sweater that hangs off his wiry frame and boxers that reach down his thighs pottering around from about 8am. Every time Michelle looks at him he tugs down the tattered hem of the sweater as though she hasn’t been incredibly acquainted with those thighs.

He makes her coffee even though he knows she doesn’t drink it and babbles caffeine heavy and scared and keeps looking down between her thighs when he thinks that she’s drinking the coffee. She for the most part is quiet. What more is there to say when everything you wanted to speak you did in the throes of passion? What is there to discuss when her heart and her intentions are on the table?

 

* * *

 

She doesn’t think there’s anything more to say and that’s how she justifies not talking to Peter for six weeks after.


End file.
